


The Mighty Relationships

by ConcentratedMatter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcentratedMatter/pseuds/ConcentratedMatter
Summary: A bunch of drabbles/ficlets based on one word prompts, each one for a specific pairing.Lonely - Beau/JesterBreakfast - Beau/YashaNew - Beau/YashaQuiet - Caleb/CaduceusScarf - Caleb/CaduceusDesperate - Beau/JesterWeakened - Pike/ScanlanHoneymoon - Pike/Scanlan





	1. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau/Jester

“I’m good at detective stuff, you know.” 

As soon as the words leave her lips, she feels silly. Worse, she can feel the hot flush of shame beat against her cheeks. She turns on her side and stares into the dark of the bedroom.  _It’s stupid anyway_ , she thinks. After a second of hesitation, she can feel Jester’s warm arms wrap around her from behind. 

“Beau…” Jester, sounding amused, pauses as she nuzzles the nape of her neck. “You are like,  _the_  most super-secret spy. Aren’t you meant to like, seek and fight all the corruption or something? Of course you’re good at detective stuff!” 

Beau grimaces slightly in the dark. “I… I don’t mean that. I mean like…” She pauses, trying to choose her words. Jester nibbles her ear, and she sighs.

“Sometimes I just, I see you and… and Nott, and… Well, you know, I- I think I could…” She hesitates.  _It’s such a silly thing,_  she thinks. She doesn’t know why, but sometimes it makes her feel so empty inside.  _Alone._  

The nibbling stops and there’s a brief silence. Beau, growing nervous, pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. 

“Just…. never mind. Forget it.” She mumbles.

Behind her in the dark, she can feel Jester sitting up. When the tiefling finally speaks, her words are careful and soft; “…You want to be part of  _Nott The Best Detective Agency_?” 

Beau freezes. “Eh, the what now?” 

“ _Nott The Best Detective Agency!”_  

Beau can hear the hint of excitement in Jester’s voice, and she suddenly realizes even more acutely how ridiculous the whole thing is. 

“What?  _No!_  No, of course not!” There’s a pregnant pause, Beau resisting the urge to look at Jester. And yet… a bright spark of hope has somehow been lit in her stomach. She coughs, trying to sound casual; 

“I mean… why? You eh, you guys hiring or something?” 

Behind her Jester laughs, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from Beau’s face before leaning back and letting out a theatrical sigh; “ _Weeeell_ … I don’t know. I will have to confer with my associate. But maybe we can find an internship–” 

Lightning fast, Beau grabs the pillow from underneath her head and hits Jester in the shoulder with it. Jester laughs again, and Beau leans back against the bed, the empty feeling in her stomach replaced with a warm, fuzzy one. 

She smiles softly. 

 _“…Thanks, Jess._ ”


	2. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau/Yasha

They ate quietly. A silence, stifling, suffocating. Beau’s knee bounced up and down as she looked at her plate, slowly pushing the eggs around with her fork. Skin prickling. Electric. 

She had already asked the innkeeper to refill their drinks twice. And she had also already commented on the niceness of the morning weather (to which Yasha had replied; “Yes.”). In fact, she had also remarked upon the emptiness of the inn (“Yes.” again), the lack of other patrons (“Hm.”), and the fact that the tables needed a good cleaning (“I guess so.”). She had even asked Yasha how her food was (“Fine.”), and whether she had any particularly favourite breakfast foods (this had garnered her a long look, and a simple “…Not really.”). 

And now, the silence. 

_But you haven’t said anything about last night,_ she thought.  _Haven’t commented on how much you liked last night. Haven’t asked her whether she liked it, too. Liked you. Us. …_ _Or not._

Her knee bounced. Her fork scraped against the plate. Eggs getting cold. 

Hands pushing off against the table, Beau stood up abruptly. “Where’s that innkeeper? I’m sure he should have co–” 

Beau stopped when Yasha reached out and placed her hand over hers. There was a curious look in the woman’s face; a slight frown, but calm eyes and soft lips. 

“Beau, it’s fine.” 

Beau looked down at the hand. It felt rough and warm against her skin, but it was an anchor. Pinning her to the table. A reassuring weight. 

A moment passed, and then Beau sank back down in her chair, rubbing the back of her neck with her other hand. Sheepishly, she met Yasha’s steady eyes, which had not left Beau’s face. 

“I just don’t want to… to…” 

“I know.” Yasha said, voice soft. And it was just the two of them, in that moment.

“…mess it all up.” Beau finished, with a whisper. 

“You’re not.” Yasha said, and her eyes briefly flicked downwards. “I know I have a tendency to disappear sometimes… But,” She looked back up, and pierced Beau with a look that went beyond, burning fears away. “I’m not going to disappear on you, Beau.” 

Her hand lingered. Beau studied her eyes as the morning sun filtered through the front of the inn and made the white tips of her hair glow like a halo of light. And then Yasha retracted her hand to continue cutting a piece of bacon. 

Beau took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then let the air slowly escape her lungs. When she opened her eyes again, she nodded, a lazy grin forming; “…Okay.”

Yasha looked up from her food, still chewing, and then shrugged and smiled.

“Okay.”


	3. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau/Yasha

Every day was an unexpected exploration, a discovery of the things she thought she knew. 

The new freckle on Beau’s back, the persistent twist in a strand of her hair. The roughness of her hands, and the slight bend to her fingers after she fought. A new scar on the inside of Beau’s lips, the taste of her after she had ale.

Delightful new discoveries, how Beau laughed when she picked her up, or the way she would blush when she kissed her on the top of her head. How soft her short hair felt, and how quickly it could grow back. How close a shave she preferred to get it _just right._

But mostly, a discovery of herself. Different sensations every day, unexplored and unfamiliar. And yet, some… some were like meeting old acquaintances. Feelings long thought lost to her. Painful and bittersweet.

But, these were  _new_ joys. New jokes. New stories.

New fears.

It was like becoming a new person every day.


	4. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb/Caduceus

Caleb is good at talking, he knows, but often he prefers not to. And sometimes he can’t. When the world pushes in, and all he wants is to curl up. No time to think. Reading, studying, the need for distraction. But without sounds. And please… not alone.  _Never_ alone. So he has Frumpkin. And sometimes he has Nott. 

But mostly, in moments like these, he has Caduceus, now. 

A presence, unwavering, close by. And then there is tea. Or a touch. And sometimes a soft, soothing hum as the other man works, simply happy to share his space. 

But mostly it’s the quiet. The pleasant kind of quiet. Like a secret or a spell between them. It would be broken if spoken, and Caduceus… Well, Caduceus doesn’t expect him to. 

And he loves him for that.


	5. Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb/Caduceus

“Must be nice,” Caduceus says, looking up from the pot of boiling broth to eye the man across from him, “the scarf.” 

Caleb, shaken from his thoughts, looks up at him. His hands are wrapped around a mug of tea. Once hot, Caduceus notices it has cooled down to such a degree that steam is no longer rising from it into the cold, winter air. 

The scarf is made from a dark blue material, knitted with thick garter stitches, and it’s quite long, falling off Caleb’s shoulders even though it’s wrapped around his neck twice. The colour of it contrasts sharply against the white of the snow behind him, tracks still visible where the others went into the underbrush to search for firewood. 

“Have you had it long?” Caduceus asks, putting down the ladle to search his pack for cooking herbs to add to the broth. Caleb blinks, and then reaches for one end of the scarf with one of his hands. He fidgets with the material with bandaged fingers. Frowning. Lost in thought. 

“Hm, yes.” Caleb’s voice is rough when he finally answers, and he clears his throat. A soft smile. “One of the first things I picked up, actually. Even before the coat.” As he speaks, Frumpkin stands up and stretches, yawning, readjusting his position on Caleb’s lap before settling back down. 

“It’s… kept me warm, and has given me comfort. Just like Frumpkin.” 

Caduceus nods in understanding, putting back the herbs and picking up the still-simmering teapot. He holds out his hand for Caleb’s mug. “Let’s refill your tea, it’ll be much better when it’s hot.” But a shiver runs through his own hands, the biting cold hard to ignore even when cooking. 

Caleb notices, and eyes him with an unreadable expression. Then the younger man sets down the mug and reaches for his scarf, and… hesitates. A few seconds pass, but then Caleb starts unwrapping the scarf, sliding it off his shoulders. Holding the material in his hands, he folds it carefully and stares at it for a brief moment, before passing it forward, together with the mug. 

“Tea will keep me warm. And my coat,” He looks down at his lap, and smiles, reaching out with his other hand to scratch his cat behind the ears, “and of course Frumpkin, too. So, I think the scarf will keep you.” 

Caduceus pauses, surprised, but then nods and gingerly takes the offered gift. He refills Caleb’s mug first, hot freshly brewed tea, and gives it back just as Caleb is adjusting the collar of his coat. 

Then Caduceus unwraps the scarf, fingering the soft, thick stitches, studying the material, before eventually, slowly, wrapping it around himself. It’s warm, and smells of… home. 

Caleb is watching him, and he smiles in response. 

“Thank you, Mr. Caleb.”


	6. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau/Jester

“Beau, please…” Jester’s words come out whispered and choked. Rocks and mud press into her knees as she reaches out and grabs Beau’s shoulders, lifts her into her arms to get her off the cold, damp ground. 

She wipes away the grime from Beau’s cheek, and hums soft words of comfort to deaf ears. Feels the arcane energy flicker and fail. 

Cold. Numb. She reaches for her side-pouch with trembling hands, flecked blood on her fingernails. She finds the comforting weight of the diamond, clutching it like a life-line.

Hugging Beau to her chest, she holds the gem between them, a shining beacon against the darkness. She closes her eyes and reaches out to her oldest friend. Begs for aid. Whispers promises. Renews her faith. 

Feels the power flow through her, into her arms, into Beau, blazing hot like starlight. 

There is silence. She opens her eyes and sees Beau’s still face. Pale. Frozen. No half-smile, no sarcasm, no dry response. Jester feels the panic fill her heart, letting the diamond fall between them. Grabbing, shaking. Shaking harder.

“Wake up,” She sobs, and she can feel someone else’s hand on her shoulder, from behind, “Wake up, you asshole!” 

“Jester…” Nott’s voice. Concern. 

Ignoring her, Jester cradles Beau’s head in her hands and… laughs. Leaning forward, she can smell Beau’s hair. Her skin. The blood. She presses her lips to Beau’s forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, a lingering kiss. 

“You gotta wake up, Beau.” She whispers, “I… I never got the chance to tell you, so you have to wake up.” 

A deep quiet from her companions, gathered around like a wall of mournful silence. It infuriates her, because she doesn’t need silence. She needs action. She needs rage. She needs  _fire_. 

But there is nothing. Just a… groan. 

She gasps and looks down at Beau. Another groan. And then Beau slowly opens her eyes. They are cloudy and unfocused, but still find hers. The world turns soft.

“Never…” Beau coughs, blinks, and then,  _of course,_  that sly grin, “…told me what?”


	7. Weakened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pike/Scanlan

He was sitting on the ground, head leaning against the rock face behind him, eyes flickering open as he heard her approach. His left hand was tightly pressed against his side. His lips curled into a half smile as she lowered herself down next to him, coming to a rest with a heavy thud of her armour. They looked at each other, and he reached out at her face with his other hand, using his thumb to wipe the blood from the large cut on her forehead. 

“Sorry,” He breathed, voice hoarse, “I don’t think I have anything left to put into song that would make that better.” 

A flicker of guilt passed through her like fire, but her smile was quick; “Your songs always make me feel better.” 

He snorted in amused disbelief, his hand falling down to his knee as he blinked slowly, gaze wandering. She realized he looked the way she felt. Ragged. Broken. But his smile was still there, just like the giddy energy in her own chest. Quiet relief. Exuberance at being alive. 

She removed her gauntlets, letting them clunk on the ground, the sound reverberating through the small grotto as she reached out and grabbed Scanlan’s hand. His fingers twitched and squeezed hers back. He stared at them and then looked up at her, eyes tired. She leaned forward and kissed him. The taste of iron and salt. 

They sat for a while, looking out across the rocks strewn with fallen foes, and down at the valley below, the sky turning pink and orange. Exhausted, it seemed they would spent the night here. 

“Grog will be sad he missed a fight.” Scanlan remarked softly. 

“Then we won’t tell him, or he’ll never let us travel alone again.” She answered in a mischievous tone. Scanlan laughed, but the sudden movement made him clutch his side with a groan. 

“Lying to your best friend?” He said, grimacing, amused. “Pikey-pants… Are there no depths you will not sink to?” 

She leaned her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and smiled. 

“Stick around and find out.”


	8. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pike/Scanlan

She found him sitting in the open windowsill behind the house, bare feet just reaching the tall grass. The grounds were wild, unkempt, but bursting with wildflowers. A gift from a drunken Keyleth, after the wedding two weeks ago. They had promised her to give the garden the care it deserved, but had not yet found the time together. 

He was humming a tune under his breath, writing in his journal. He looked up when she approached and smiled. She fidgeted with her shirt and sat down next to him.

“You’re home early, radiant light of mine. You know we don’t leave until tomorrow, right? Plenty of time to pack.” He said, returning his attention to the journal, finishing writing his thoughts. There was a beat of silence as Pike’s heart sank a little. 

“Actually,” She broke the quiet, and he looked back up with earnest interest, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that?” 

“Having second thoughts about us already?” He joked, closing his journal and setting it to the side. As he turned, the sunlight lit up his hair, revealing a red gleam among the black. She smiled softly. 

“I’ve been having second thoughts about you since the day we met,” She replied teasingly, and he adopted a mock look of hurt in reply, before grinning. 

But she looked down at her hands, and the windowsill. It needed a good scrubbing, and the paint was peeling off. Her gaze wandered back across the garden. The wild plant growth, the cracking garden wall. 

“No. It’s just…” 

She sighed. 

“There’s… there’s a lot left to do. The temple, we’re very close to restoring the right wing, and,” She looked at him helplessly. “And with the house, and the… the garden. But maybe next week, maybe we could-” 

He grabbed her hand on the windowsill and squeezed. She looked up. He nodded. 

“I understand.”

She bit her lip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, the small ember of guilt burning in her stomach. “I know you were looking forward to this trip. The two of us.” 

She expected a shrug, or a sullen acceptance. But instead he laughed, the sound bright and joyful. It caught her off guard. Seeing her startled expression, his face softened. 

“My dearest Pike,” He said, his tone gentle, eyes smiling. “You forget, we’ve already traveled the world together.” 

He brought up her hand and kissed her fingertips. 

“Building a home with you will be the greatest adventure yet.”


End file.
